After Effects
by Ryocha
Summary: A night with Michel leaves Alto distraught, but satisfied. If only he could remember it properly.


**After Effects  
**_By: Ryocha_

* * *

When Alto woke up the next morning, he couldn't tell immediately where he was, but he knew it was dark and a brisk chill was beginning to work its way up his body from his toes, which were peeping out from underneath the down comforter. Streams of sunlight from the cracks in the window shutters behind him let light pour onto the wall in front of him, illuminating patches of blue and green paint – he couldn't quite tell, his eyes were unfocused – like speckles on an Easter egg, he thought blearily. Despite this, the room still managed to hold an unidentifiable aura about it.

His hands moved from the warmth underneath the comforter to his face, where his fingertips ran over the curves of his nose, his lips, and his cheeks, trying to gain some sense from himself. He was here, wherever here was, so this couldn't be a dream. Panic and anxiety were going to set in soon enough, he told himself. And then he heard it.

It was barely audible; even in the presteen silence of the bedroom he had to strain his ears to listen to the sound. It was a sigh, pleasant and sleepy, which came from behind him and lingered in the air like incense, its traces working their way over to Alto. An arm, equally as sleepy as the whimsical sigh, snaked its way around his waist. A cold nose joined its companion in the crook of Alto's neck, and a mop of blond hair mixed casually with his loose strands of blue tresses.

Alto froze. His mind went blank, and memories suddenly poured back from the previous night. He realized he was naked and in a foreign bed, and this bed belonged to Michel Blanc.

He screamed.

It wasn't manly, to say the least. It hurled itself from his lungs, high pitched and frantic, and woke the slumbering Michel with frightening results. Alto in the meantime managed to scramble from the bed and fall onto the floor with presteen grace. His hands met with cold wood, and his upper thighs shivered when they too met with the same surface. His hair fell around him like a curtain, shielding his face from a now razzed and shocked Michel, who in the process of escaping from the ravenous Alto, had pulled back the comforter to expose his own equally naked body.

"W-What the…" Michel stared on, partly dumbfounded and partly annoyed, at his partner. "Damnit, Alto. We have to get up in three hours." He nudged the sleep out of the corners of his eyes with a knuckle as he spoke.

"But what… why…" The designated princess kept his face away from the blond man, too embarrassed look Michel in the eye after he had caused a fuss. "Nevermind then!" He spat. "I… I'm sorry, alright? There."

Michel sighed, "I accept, your majesty. Now get back here. Heat s'going." Michel crawled underneath the covers again, leaving a corner of the comforter pulled back for him.

Alto was left on the floor, his adventurous mind going over everything that had happened the night before. It left the boy with a hand clamped over his mouth and his face aglow. He could feel his erection twitch back to life, and spat a curse under his breath. Michel had been good – too good – to him last night. His nipples were still sore when his arms rubbed up against them, and the inside of his thighs had red blotches scattered especially close to his junk.

"You coming?" He'd almost forgot the offer Michel made. Grumbling, Alto slid back under the covers as discreetly as possible. He brushed his hair behind his neck, and wished himself to sleep as quickly as possible.

Michel chuckled. Alto wanted to imagine he didn't hear it.

"Shut up."

"I can't help it. It was funny to watch you jump like that, Princess."

"Don't start this now." He growled, but it didn't phase the sniper one bit. He hated Michel when he got like this.

"Don't tempt me now. I still want to sleep, y'know." He could feel that perverted hand of his resting on his hip, his middle finger right over the bone. It kneaded the skin pleadingly; the bastard was saying one thing but wanting another.

"Likewise. Can we call this even?"

"I doubt that's feasible, Princess."

"And stop calling me Prince—" Michel's mouth was on his before he could even finish. He wanted nothing more than to throw the man off him, but his will was slowly fading away with each passing second. Tongues clashing immediately, brash and demanding, and Alto caught himself releasing soft, whimpering gasps as he realized he couldn't breath underneath the larger man.

They broke apart, and Alto gasped wildly before being dragged back under by Michel. The man's mouth had moved onto his neck, nipping and sucking on the sore skin behind Alto's ear. He winced, and pushed the blond sniper away by the shoulders.

"Still hurts." He murmured, partly in admittance that he liked what Michel was doing to him. The other man understood and showed it with a curt nod, and moved down his chest. The comforter got pushed back along with him, and rested in a heap at the foot of the bed.

"Should I not touch these? They're pretty perky."

"Oh shut it. And no. Lower."

"Yes yes, your majesty." Alto snarled, and Michel chuckled softly.

All coherent thoughts were thrown into the wind as soon as Michel wrapped his hand around Alto's dick and squeezed, and the choked moan Alto released made Michel swell dangerously. It was one of the few, precious moments the blond was able to witness Alto, ever callous and snarky, drop his mask and writhe and whimper without being inspired by fear.

Michel worked his mouth quickly; he sucked on the tip and twisted his tongue into the tiny hole, feeling Alto's hips buck with a pleading grunt in response. Michel obliged, and with a small smile, took as much of Alto as he could into his mouth with one gulp, letting his right hand pump what amount of cock he couldn't take down his throat.

Movements became frantic and needy, and noises gurgled from Alto's mouth that Michel knew the younger man wouldn't be caught dead admitting he produced an hour from now. The blond, however, would chide otherwise.

With a few spluttering gasps and incoherent words, and a sudden choking noise, it was all over. Alto's tense body became slack; his jaw still managing to stay clenched shut as a hiss of air escaped in relief. Michel managed to choke down what cum he could manage, and reached blindly out for a towel he knew he'd discarded somewhere close by. After several unsuccessful attempts, he found it in a tiny heap, barely hanging off the end of the bed. Wiping himself clean, he brought himself up from between Alto's legs to find the man's eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in great heaves and a wrist lying over his forehead.

Michel couldn't help but smile at his handiwork, sitting back on his haunches and admiring Alto as if her were a piece of Greek artwork. Noticing the pair of intent eyes on his naked body, Alto turned on his side and muttered, "You're making me nervous," and with added thoughtfulness, "It's getting cold, pull the covers back over here."

"I was marveling the beauty before me."

"Just get the covers." Alto dejected with embarrassment.

Ruffling a hand through messy blond bangs, Michel obliged and settled beside Alto, whose body had become rigid, but warm.

"Idiot." He muttered over his shoulder. Michel merely smiled, and with precise ease, wrapped and arm around the blue-haired man's waist, and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of his lover's neck.

"Too bad this idiot's already fallen for you." He whispered. Alto grunted, but put aside his frustraition by entangling his fingers with Michel's as they dozed off to sleep.


End file.
